


Seeking Sanctuary

by CrookedCrown (PipBoi3000)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Asylum, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hospitals, M/M, Medical, church
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-22 04:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15573873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipBoi3000/pseuds/CrookedCrown
Summary: Locked in the hallowed halls of Newick Memorial Hospital, Gavin is placed under the questionable care of a certain doctor Haywood. Beyond the godless priests, crooked nuns and sadistic surgeon, Gavin finds a friend who wants the same thing as him; Escape.





	1. Heavy Doors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chosca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chosca/gifts).



> Heavily inspired by the pilot episode of Achievement Haunter, I am really excited to share this all with you. (An enormous shout out to my friend for letting me yell plot points at him left right and centre.) It's not the sort of thing I have written before but here's hoping for weekly updates!  
> A few warnings on this one so make sure you check before you read.  
> xx

Chapter One.  
Gavin.

_Pain, pain, pain._  
The walls of a hospital  
have heard prayers much more sincere  
than those of a church.  
Isolate the frontal lobe.  
Laughing up the garden path.  
You are no guest on hallowed ground...  
Had he heard the lock click? __

___Gavin Free’s first glance of Newick Memorial Hospital could really be called nothing else. A glace; A fleeting look upwards from the one eye that wasn’t pressed gingerly into his palm._  
If he has taken more time to look, perhaps he would have noticed the peeling paint; The way the white came away from the cement below in curled lines. He might have seen the crosses that decorated the hospitals many proud spires. He may have even squinted up at the latin that arched it’s back above the enormous doors.  
“Puras mentes clarumque”. Clean hands and clear minds.  
Perhaps one more year in university and Gavin would have been able to read this for himself. 

__But that hardly mattered now. Because as it were, Gavin did not look at the chipped paint or twisted weathervanes, nor did he heed the ominous undertones of the words that signposted his progress up the hospital’s front steps. Gavin was far too deep in a self-sympathising lament for his hungover head to look at Newick’s walls from the outside any closer than he had to.  
The first thing Gavin did pay mind to, was the sound of the heavy oak door closing behind him, taking the crisp autumn air with it. It was only then that everything swam into a slow, hazy perspective._ _

___Pain, pain, pain. ____ _

____His head seemed to beat the word, thrumming it out in a harsh rhythm that left inky smudges in his line of sight. Coming here had been stupid and he knew it, but desperation overwhelmed common sense and something he chose to deem ‘lonesome-logic’ had sent him here. Tail between his legs he had limped, twitching for anything that would release the pulsing pressure behind his eyes. It was very apparent that this ‘something’ was not here._ _ _ _

_______Slowly, Gavin lowered his hand from his face, scanning his surroundings and taking it all in. It wasn’t what he had expected, while at the same time, there was really nothing asmiss. Despite the cool clinical greens and whites that coloured the scene, there was something decidedly unclean about it. The same something hung heavy in the air, underneath the disinfectant like the breath of a smoker, masked in rosewater. It curled up his nose with the same copper-tang as blood, sharpness diluted by the hospitals other scents. Ozone, Gavin decided, or at least something close to it; sticking to the back of his throat like an impending storm. Somewhere in the great gut of the building, Doris Day played._  
‘Birds singin’ in the Syc-syc-sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me…’  
The jump in the tape made Gavins skin shudder on his bones.  
The waiting room was uncharacteristically large, closer to a place of worship than one for the unwell. 

_____‘The walls of a hospital have heard prayers much more sincere than those of a church’ ____ _ _ _

______Gavin shook the words, which made his skin crawl for some reason. He couldn’t for the life of him remember which well-intentioned philosopher had said it. For a room so large it was next to empty, save for a man with his head in his hands. Gavin wondered if the poor bugger was suffering a similar ailment to his own. He ignored the sobs._ _ _ _ _ _

______Gavin turned to a seemingly-empty reception desk, mentally preparing himself for the toll of the bell hitting like a gong against his headache._ _ _ _ _ _

_______Isolate the frontal lobe._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“Can I help you, sir?”_  
Gavin snatched his hand away from the bell as if it threatened to burn him, his panicked eyes meeting the hazel ones of the woman who appeared from seemingly nowhere. She wasn’t a nurse or a receptionist and being behind the desk, she certainly wasn’t a patient. In fact it was very obvious what she was.  
The nun narrowed her eyes suspiciously under the wings of her wimple, wrinkling her nose at Gavin.  
“I errrr, I’ve got a rather bad...Migraine. I wish to speak with a doctor?” Gavin chose his words carefully while trying not to blow liquor-tainted breath across the woman.  
“Take a seat master…?”  
“Free, Gavin Free. Ma’am. Sister. Mister. Shit.”  
The nun’s eyes almost popped out of her head  
“A seat. Mister Free.”  
Gavin turned away sheepishly, face burning and wondering where in the huge room he would find a perch that didn’t look awkward. 

_______________“There will be no need for that, Sister Agatha. I am unoccupied now? And this young man is clearly in a lot of pain…”_  
The voice was warm and and empathetic. Gavin whirled around to see an older man, wiping his hands and smiling. He was handsome, Gavin noticed this immediately, the dark blue of his eyes and the kind crookedness that his smile held. Blonde waves were tucked beneath a surgeon’s cap and narrow-framed glasses sat perched on the end of a decidedly crooked nose.  
“A pleasure to meet you, Mister Free. I’m Doctor Haywood.”  
Gavin went to shake his extended hand before remembering;  
“There’s another man waiting sir, he was here much before me, I...” Gavin turned to gesture at the hall. It was empty. He let his hand fall to his side, thoroughly perplexed by the rows of empty chairs and wondering when the sound of sobbing had stopped. Doctor Haywood chuckled.  
“My my! Just how hard did you hit your head young man?”  
Gavin forced a laugh in response, shaking himself slightly.  
“I’m so sorry, must be my imagination.”  
The doctor tutted with faux-disapproval and beamed that sunshine-smile once more.  
“My office is this way, let’s get a look at that head of yours.”  
Relieved to be away from both the bird-like gaze of the nun and the ominous front room, Gavin had to try not to all-but skip as he followed the man. The doctor chatted as they walked, asking Gavin about his studies and his hometown. Gavin replied distractedly, unable to tear his eyes from those in the hallway. 

________Unlike the emptiness of the waiting room, the hallway was full of bursts of sporadic life, fleeting the edge of Gavin’s vision.  
Doctor Haywood seemed unphased by the occupants they passed, not pausing in his questions and cheery small talk. A man thumped his head in a slow steady rhythm against the wall, arms hanging limply in his robe. A young girl with weighted shoes giggled, running as fast as she could after a boy with a shaved head and several cruel-looking scars. Doctor Haywood was pulled away briefly from his chatter as a frail-looking woman shuffled up to him, clinging onto his arm and looking up at him earnestly. Bandages mummified her to the elbow... He spoke to her softly, smiling at words Gavin couldn’t quite make out. Not that Gavin was listening, his eyes were instead locked with those of a figure just out of the hallways fluorescent lights._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Laughing up the garden path ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Unlike the jittering garden of occupants Gavin had just walked through, there was nothing crazed in those eyes. Rather a sense of enormous melancholy. Closely cropped curls framed an almost babyish face and the boy looked at Gavin with quiet surprise, shocked into stillness under Gavin’s gaze. He wore the same shapeless robe as the others but paired the white square with a pair of thickly-knitted bed socks. His arms beneath the robe were wrapped in a shirt of linen bandages and despite himself, Gavin wanted more than anything to give this man a hug. In a weak compromise, he lifted his fingers in an awkward little half-wave. The boys dark eyes widened further still and he stepped into the shadows, cheeks pink._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“Muffin.” Gavin looked at doctor Haywood, controlling himself from replying with a sarcastic ‘Yes, darling?’  
Sensing his confusion, the doctor nodded towards where the red-haired boy had been.  
“The man you waved at. His name is Muffin.”  
“That’s an...Interesting name.”  
“It wasn’t always, of course. But within a week here he stopped responding to ‘Michael’ all together.” he shrugged. “There is safety in sanity but we do what we can to make madness comfortable for our guests.”  
Something about the way doctor Haywood said ‘guests’ filled Gavin with a sense of unease._ _

______________“Ah! Here we are. After you, sir.”  
They had come to a modest door with a plaque reading ‘Doctor James Ryan Haywood’  
And finding it held open for him, Gavin ducked inside.  
If the door was modest, the office itself was far from. While it still couldn’t be described as ‘flashy’ exactly, there was a tasteful and confident air of old money. Everything was dark wood, polished and linear and instead of being lost, the rich grain was illuminated by an enormous bay window._ _ _ _ _ _

___________You are no guest on hallowed ground. ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________The door clicking shut behind the Doctor sounded so very final._  
“Doctor Haywood I..”  
He held up a hand to shush Gavin, frowning.  
“Please, no need for formalities.”  
“Alright...James..?” This was met with yet more gentle laughter.  
“I’d be happy with Ryan, if you’d be so kind. Too many of our staff already called James.”  
Gavin chose not to comment on the fact Ryan was the only doctor he had seen.  
“Alright...Ryan.” Gavin thought for a moment, realising as much pain as he was in, he didn’t really want to lie to the man that clearly wanted nothing more than to help.  
“It’s not...A migraine so much. It’s more of a...Self-inflicted..Illness...By which I mean…”  
“Raging hangover.” Ryan cut him off, not looking in the slightest bit surprised, if not quietly amused.  
“Err…”  
“You’re very sweet but I’m afraid to say not very original.” Ryan laughed and crossed to a cabinet that occupied the other side of the room.  
“I’d offer you a drink but it would appear you don’t need one.” Ryan guffawed at his own quip and Gavin smiled back weakly, trying to wrap his head around things.  
Ryan handed him a glass.  
“It’s water, Mister Free. I’m not entirely sure what kind of operation you think i’m running here.”  
Gavin took the water gratefully, but didn’t drink it yet, watching Ryan as he leant against his desk and sighed.  
“Gavin.”  
“Yes?”  
“Drink up...There you go. What was I going to say? Ah yes! Gavin! DO you know what kind of hospital this is.”  
Gavin, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, peered up.  
“It’s a loony-bin really, isn’t it?”  
Something cruel flashed across Ryan’s face, but Gavin didn’t notice as he took another mouthful. Perhaps it would have been enough warning.  
“I just figured you’d have a spare bed and a couple of painkillers lying about. I don’t really mind the mentals…Better than half the tossers at my uni”  
Ryan’s hands tightened around his glass and he cleared his throat.  
“What i’m saying Gavin, is that our guests all come to us for the same reason. They want our help.”  
Something in his tone made Gavin look at Ryan. His eyes seemed different in the light of the office. Harder somehow. Cold.  
“You do want my help, don’t you boy?”  
“Just a c-couple aspirin'd be fine at this point…”  
Gavin battled to keep the tremor out of his voice. 

_____________Had he heard the lock click? ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________The hand that slammed itself down on his shoulder made his stomach feel as if it had dropped through the floor. Then Ryan was chortling again, acting like he hadn’t just stood as six foot two of brewing storm.  
“Aspirin is no trouble here, that’s for sure. But while i’ve got you, I would like to ask you a few things? Nothing horrific I promise. Just something for the books.”  
As he spoke, he held Gavin’s gaze and Gavin wondered what scrap of malice he had ever seen in those kind features._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. The Gentle Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Muffin is a patient much more familiar with Newick's grounds than our new arrival. That is not to say he can't still be surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! Warning for unexpected but not unwelcome 'encounters' on this one. Nothing nasty just a bit out-of-the-blue. On a side note, I would take a bullet for Muffin. I hope you like him as much as I like writing him xx

_Settle petals.  
Blue on white on blue on white on…  
Worn threadbare with love  
Voyagers voices on shipwrecking seas.  
Soft words spoken only for my sweetheart. ___

__Newick had lots of different sounds. It was very large and above that, it was very old. Even when everyone was asleep, the building chattered away to itself.  
‘Settling’, Muffin remembered. Old buildings ‘settled’. He liked this word. It was a warm word. It made him think of the way a cat would walk in circles in order to find a comfortable way to rest. With this thought in mind, Muffin had pottered down the hall to the room Newick boasted as a library. ‘Glorified bookshelf’ would have perhaps been a more accurate placard to decorate the door but even so, there were books and that was all he wanted._ _

__‘Settle’ was such a nice word! Like ‘petal’ and ‘flutter’ and ‘whittle’. All such good words.. Muffin thumbed along the spines of the books, humming to himself and absently scratching his knee. Any other person would have seen the same books as always, greying spines uninspiring in the harsh-lights. But Muffin picked them out carefully, brow furrowed as if his choice would determine the fate of the universe.  
After changing his mind several times, shaking his head in frustration like he had missed something obvious, Muffin finally trotted out of the narrow room, beaming at his final selection._ _

__The children’s ward wasn’t far from his own room. He was what Newick liked to call ‘one of the Gentles’. He heard the capitalization in the way they said it. He liked being a Gentle. It meant he could have wonderful things like socks and books and sometimes even hot chocolate. Gentle gifts for a gentle soul. Newick didn’t mind him padding into the childrens ward every afternoon, coke-bottle glasses worn crooked on his smiling face and the same books day in and day out. The staff watched his little clockwork path with warmth. The way he would hide the books in different parts of the shelf whenever he finished reading them as if this would make them in some way new._ _

__Worn threadbare with love_ _

__They never saw him read though. The children would look at the staff pointedly until they stepped outside, Muffin staring hard at his hands, refusing to open the book until every white-apron was busying themselves elsewhere.  
Even pressing their ears hard to the wood of the door was no good, he was just too quiet. All the duty-nurses would hear was the quiet giggles of the children that arranged themselves around Muffin and the pages of his book.  
They all knew the words. Inside out and upside down the tiny cluster of children knew these damn books. They knew about the Velveteen Rabbit and how much he wanted to be real. They knew about the three billy goats gruff and the bridge they crossed. They knew about the elephant’s sags and bags and about how poky the little puppy was._ _

__But they would never read along. They much preferred to hear it all-but whispered in the growling Woodbridge accent. Because Muffin did the voices.  
Because Muffin never got tired of making up new endings. And because Muffin was just as scared as them, of the walls of Newick Hospital. _ _

__Settle petals._ _

__Muffin rounded the corner of the hall, wondering to himself which book he would read first. He was swept out of his meandering thoughts however, when he walked rather forcefully into the back of a nun carrying a pill-tray. The woman spun to look at him, features pulled up in outrage at his clumsiness and he widened his eyes in horror, half-wondering where his glasses had fallen.  
“You CLUB-FOOTED little BR”  
“Sister Margaret, i’m not sure there is any need for that, is there..?”  
Muffin felt red, rise like dawn in his cheeks at the man who had appeared from what felt like thin air.  
“F-Father!” Sister Margaret bobbed in an awkward little nod-curtsy and Muffin noticed a red in her face to match his own.  
“Lad was just lost in thought, i’m sure. A rare occurrence among our residents…”  
The nun let out an uncharacteristically girlish little titter before going redder still and hurrying off down the hall.  
Muffin’s expression didn’t change, eyes still terror-stricken despite the priest’s attempt at a joke.   
“Err…”  
Father Ramsey was at a slight loss under Muffin’s gaze. “I think these are yours”. He bent to pick up the thick glasses that had fallen off Muffin’s nose during his clash with the rather sudden nun.  
Muffin took the glasses gingerly, sleeve tucked into his palm. Father Ramsey’s hand was clad in black leather and Muffin’s pinky brushed against the soft warmth of it. He curled his finger into his palm to join his sleeve, switching his gaze to the floor.  
He didn’t put the glasses on, just continued to stare, wishing the checkered linoleum would swallow him whole._ _

__Blue on white on blue on white on..._ _

__Without warning, one of those soft gloves was on his chin, pulling Muffin’s blurred vision up to be filled with the dark-haired priest. He spoke softly.  
“Don’t mind the nun’s, kid. Bunch ‘o dusty old sticks-in-the-mud.” Even his laugh was soft…  
He gave Muffin a gentle chuck on the chin.  
“But maybe slow down with those books there. Poky lil Puppy is something you gotta handle with care.” He winked and laughed again. He turned then, as if to walk away and Muffin found he had been holding his breath.  
“...M-Muffin.”  
Father Ramsey stopped.  
“Pardon me…?”  
“Muffin.”  
Then it was Muffin who hurried away, shoving on his glasses and keeping his eyes peeled for any lurking nuns he might be privy to collide with._ _

__It wasn’t until a week later that Muffin saw the priest again. Wandering one of the more quiet hallways as he often did; Muffin had paused, hearing a distant eerie kind of singing. He whirled around, looking for the source but found himself to be alone.  
Following the noise around several corners he found two heavy doors marked ‘chapel.’  
Muffin didn’t often occupy these hallways on account of the nuns haunting them closely. But they were desolate now and upon prying open a door, Muffin discovered why._ _

__Voyagers voices on shipwrecking seas_ _

__It was often easy to forget that Newick was a supposedly holy place. That beyond this claustrophobic context, nuns smiling faces were warm in the sunshine of open-aired abbeys. That they practiced the love that they preached with a gentle hand. But in times like this, Muffin felt a small flickering reminder of this love.  
Pew upon battered pew they stood, songbooks in hand and eyes closed to the heavens as they sang. The notes left them in a tenderness that was rare between the warped walls that bore down around them.  
Muffin stood and listened for what felt like hours, swaying in the doorway to the lilt of the hymns. It was over far too soon and Muffin, rather disappointed, turned to leave._ _

__It was a voice that halted him in his tracks.  
Father Ramsey spoke differently to many others. What with both his age and height, one would perhaps expect a low voice. A voice comparable to that of Doctor Haywood, who Muffin gave the widest possible berth upon hearing his limp echo in the halls.  
But no. Father Ramsey’s voice came out in a hiss-roar-creak steam train kind of a way. It cracked and rumbled along the track of his sermon and Muffin found himself sitting down to better listen.  
It took several pages for Muffin to realize it. Several passes of leather-clad hands. Several times where eyes were lifted, blue and bruised to the chipped ceiling were perhaps heaven hid. Indeed it was only then that Muffin realised that this was the first time anyone had read to him._ _

__Once this thought had occurred to him, it refused to go unnoticed. So he let it be noticed. He relished it and rolled it on his tongue. He welcomed the warm feeling it brought._ _

__He clung to the thought as the sermon came to an amen-inducing close.  
He let the thought lift him as the nuns filed out, none so much as glancing as him.  
He let it tug at the corners of his mouth as Father Ramsey touched his face once more; Just like he had in the hall.  
Finally he let that one sweet thought splay his lashes soft against his cheeks as the priest hands roamed beneath the summer-blue of his gown._ _

__Soft words spoken only for my sweetheart._ _


	3. No Refuge In Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grip of Newick draws ever tighter around its newest inmate as Gavin's lines of reality blur.

_Still they stuck, tangled in pulses  
No calm only distance  
Between the storm and I  
Seeking chaos in undeniability  
There is refuge in the unknown. ___

__He had begun the session standing, twisting his fingers over one another and looking at the floor as he spoke. Then he was leaning, shoulder hard against the wall as he rolled his eyes, telling an amused Dr Haywood about the tiring behaviour of his fellow ‘academics’. It wasn’t long until he found himself lying neatly on the green leather of the button-punched couch. It was an almost laughable silhouette; A boy who claimed only to need aspirin pouring his heart out to a psychiatric doctor. But Ryan wasn’t laughing. He hadn’t been for a while now and the brewing storm that Gavin has shaken loose before, stirred beneath the surface.  
Gavin took a deep breath before forcing a weak, hoarse laugh. He pulled himself into a sitting position, head swimming. How long had he been lying there…? He tossed his head, shaking the cobwebs of confusion._ _

__Still they stuck, tangled in pulses_ _

__“So d’you reckon I might be able to have a nap now? I’ll be out of your hair before you know it…The dorms would do my bloody head in though.”  
Ryan stood, adjusting his glasses and not taking his eyes from Gavin.  
“Mister Free you may stay as long as you like. I will have a duty-nurse bring you food and make sure you are comfortable in the room I would be more than happy to provide...However I have some concerns.”  
Ryan dropped his voice slightly and Gavin felt as if his heart froze, suspended mid-beat._ _

__No calm only distance_ _

__“Oh..?” He tried to remain vague and unconvinced, like an adult watching a child play doctor with a stuffed animal.  
“What concerns you…? Exactly?” Gavin half expected another clap on the shoulder but instead the storm swam closer still, brimming in cold eyes.  
“You, Mister Free. Your stressful living conditions. The academic pressure you put on yourself. An evident homesickness that you wave off. You wave it all off, Gavin. But the strain you are under is something I would rather like to monitor.”  
Gavin opened his mouth in protest but Ryan help up a hand.  
“No buts. Think of it as some peace and quiet. I will telephone through to your university and let them know you are in good hands. It will only be for a few days. I would be more than happy to be proven wrong.”  
Gavin faltered and nodded. Ryan smiled but the lightning remained._ _

__Between the storm and I._ _

__“I’ll have a nurse show you to your room and give you some fresh linens. You and I can speak more in the morning. I’d waver that headache is giving you something between hell and highwater right now. Which reminds me!”  
The doctor spun tidily on his heel and began to open the drawers of his desk. A moment later he let out a triumphant ‘ah!’ and produced a small jar.  
“Here are the pills that may make sleep easier. They will wear off of course but they out to take the edge off things.”  
Gavin took them and for the first time felt genuine relief. Doctor Haywood was right. ‘Further Analysis’ could wait til tomorrow. Gavin swallowed the pills dry, resisting the urge to retch and letting the door be held open for him by a tutting doctor Haywood._ _

__Even so, something gnawed at him as he walked away, lead by an aproned duty-nurse down a suddenly very empty hall. Beyond the smell of the fresh sheets and neatly folded pyjamas in his arms. Beyond the distant music that leaked, lethargic in the air. It was fear. Not of Doctor Haywood himself, but rather of the fact he was right._ _

__Gavin’s head pulsed and he pushed his palm against it. Maybe a few days would do him good. A breath away from it all._ _

__It was a challenge to describe the room as much more than a cell. Admittedly there were no padded walls or shackles, nor were there bars. But Gavin knew what a heavy door and a high window meant. The bed was old, creaking in protest under his weight. A picture of Jesus hung above the narrow frame and a single-drawer dresser stood to the side. Gavin noticed the handle had been removed. He didn’t hear the nurse leave but upon finding the room empty, stripped to nothing, pulling on the thin cotton pyjamas. They were slightly stiff; The result of being laundered one too many times but the smell of lavender was calming and kind. Too tired to make his bed properly, Gavin collapsed in a nest of fresh sheets, pills already holding his head._ _

__Despite the pills, Gavin’s sleep was nothing short of hysterical.  
When fever-dreams didn’t tear his eyes open in fits of fear, the temperature of his skin ricocheted from burning to bitten by blue-cold. In the throes of desperate illness, Gavin could have sworn he screamed. But nobody came. Maybe the other patients could hear him.  
Maybe Muffin heard him. _ _

__The relief that finally flooded him was false. The shock of rearing illness released him but a new grip found purchase on flushed skin. The dream that conjured itself heated the cold sweat on Gavin’s body. Like many dreams, it was hard to focus, hard to recognise the faces and voices and to make ends meet. It was closer to a feeling than a dream; a manifesto that sent Gavin’s frame into spasms. Gloved hands, constricted breath, bare feet on tiles, a wide window, the scratch of pen on paper. Faster still they flashed behind his eyes; Gagging, buckles, bruises, drains.  
The doctor.  
But the images weren’t enough for the thing that had taken ahold. The flashing, nauseous whirl of pictures slowed and pulsed. Sensation overtook. Alone in the room, Gavin felt an invasiveness so close to something real that he whined. It rushed past him and through him and against him. He could feel it in his throat, pressed to his back teeth and stifling him. He felt it under his shirt and pinning his wrists and pulling his hair and pressing against him and...  
Somewhere between possession and climax, Gavin’s body hurled up with such force his back popped, spine arching in unconscious, otherworldly hunger.   
And then there was nothing. Gavin hadn’t so much as woken and whatever force held him, had relented with the edge of morning. The strings of images and ghostly hands slipped and he finally, breathlessly fell into forgiving sleep. Not enough hours passed.  
The sheets were wet when he awoke._ _

__Seeking chaos in undeniability_ _

__The nun brought the soft fingers of dawn light with her. She didn’t look at Gavin as she stripped his sheets and he burnt in silent shame at the mess. Tucking the soiled bedding into a laundry bag she disappeared as quickly and soundlessly as she had filed in. As quickly as she was gone, another nun swept in, breakfast tray heavy with food and a set of pressed clothing tucked beneath her arm._ _

__Gavin found himself utterly ravenous and finally free of the hangover that had clutched at his temples. He ate slowly however, upon realising the nun was not going to leave until the tray was clear. He didn’t want to appear an animal, although he was sure the lass in charge of his laundry already suspected him as one.  
The food was good, fresh fruit and homemade bread; A tall glass of milk with beads of condensation spotting the glass. It was so good in fact, that Gavin almost missed the note that sat on the silvery tray._ _

__“If those pills have acted as they should, I suspect you are feeling a lot more well-rested. We continue our appointment at 9:45 so eat up.  
-Dr H”_ _

__For a doctor, his handwriting was neat; Tall and spired on the paper. Gavin smield but couldn’t help but think Ryan was wrong. Gavin wondered just how little he had slept._ _

__Letting the nun take his now-empty tray and bobbing an awkward ‘thank you’, Gavin realised he had no idea what the the time was. He stretched languidly and unfolded the clothing he had been brought. It wasn’t his own and he vaguely wondered where the clothes he wore in had ended up.  
The white fabric reminded Gavin of doctors scrubs but looking at the state of his pyjamas, he didn’t see many options. Sighing, he tugged his trousers off, tripping slightly as he kicked them free of his ankles. There was the very quiet sound of a throat being cleared.  
“BLOODY JESU….LORD.” Gavin turned, horrified to see the nun who had taken his laundry standing in the door.  
“I need your sleepwear as well, master Free.”  
“Ah, yes...Of course.” Gavin tried to remain cordial, covering himself as best he could as he stepped into the new clothing, trying not to trip for a second time.   
After what felt like forever, Gavin was finally free of the women’s bizarrely clockwork morning routine. Flattening his shirt, Gavin opened the heavy door of his room, to see a pair of (white, of course) house-shoes were placed neatly outside. He looked at them for a moment, the way they had been paired almost obsessively within the lines of a single square tile….Then he kept walking, bed-socks soft and soundless.  
In the shadows, a smaller figure watched him with interest. That being said, a lot interested Muffin._ _

__There is refuge in the unknown._ _


End file.
